Not Just a Shadow
by Unique
Summary: It's a good thing that John is used to being underestimated. Or, The Case Where John Knew as Much as Sherlock…Almost.


Notes: Found this hiding on my hard drive. It's set sometime early in series one.

* * *

The body was sprawled amongst the rubbish. The head was twisted at an angle, eyes staring sightlessly up into the night. A trickle of pinkish liquid leaked from the right ear, falling to wet the shoulder of the victim's shirt.

Sherlock bent over the body, taking a deep whiff of the pungent odour of vomit. He glanced at the victim's clothes, noting the wrinkles at the knees. He didn't even need to see the hands to know that they would be red and abraded at the knuckles.

He pulled out his phone and began to Google. He was mentally working through the potential routes when John spoke. John spoke slowly, not completely certain about his conclusions but confident with the baseline data.

"So we're looking for either a cheap restaurant or a grocer with a public WC between here and there."

"Very good, John," said Sherlock proudly. He closed his phone and dropped it into his pocket. "He came from the Tesco four streets to the east."

Lestrade let out a humourless laugh.

"What? Have you been training him?"

"Yes," said Sherlock.

"No," said John.

They looked at each other. John rolled his eyes.

"I didn't need your fancy methods. Doctor, remember?"

"As if I could possibly forget," murmured Sherlock. "That is what you are employed as," continued Sherlock in a louder voice. He still didn't see why John insisted on working part time.

"Would you two quit speaking in riddles and explain what you are talking about?" demanded Lestrade, glancing back and forth between Sherlock and John with an exasperated expression.

"Would you like to walk him through it?" offered Sherlock.

"Fine." John shrugged. He paced around the body as he talked. "The victim's bulimic. He binged and purged shortly before his death which means he was either at a restaurant or a grocer- Sherlock says Tesco. If we can determine the route he took between here and there, we may be able to find where he met the killer."

"You can't know that."

"Of course, you can."

"No, you could know that," said Lestrade pointing at Sherlock, "but not you." He turned towards John. "So what was it? Did he figure it out before he even saw the body or have you worked out a way to pass notes undetected?"

"How dare you," began Sherlock, ruffling up like a peacock.

"Oh, don't start," said John. "You know you were just as shocked as Lestrade."

"I was not!"

"Yes, you were!"

Lestrade cleared his throat, glaring at both of them impatiently.

"Right," said John, squaring his shoulders. "Take a deep breath and tell me what you smell."

Lestrade inhaled and then coughed, holding a hand up to his nose.

"He smells like he just bailed on a pub crawl," said Lestrade wrinkling his face in disgust.

"Exactly, but he doesn't smell like alcohol."

Sherlock watched, fascinated; he had never seen a deduction deconstructed like this.

"And then when you look at the hands, see those abrasions?"

Lestrade bent down.

"Yes," he said, looking up at John.

"Those are caused by his teeth scraping the skin when he uses his fingers to induce vomiting. It's a pretty classic sign of bulimia."

"He doesn't look skinny."

"That's not unusual."

They both stood up. Lestrade looked perplexed.

"But I thought eating disorders were something teenage girls did to lose weight?"

"It's a psychological disorder," said John with a patient sigh, "and our victim isn't a teenage girl."

"So how did this lead you to Tesco?"

"If you had ever seen a bulimic binge, you would know that they can eat a massive amount of food. Our victim's a pretty big man so he would definitely need a lot of food, more than he could get in a regular restaurant. He would also need somewhere to purge. It narrows the options, but picking out the exact Tesco is more Sherlock's area."

They both looked at Sherlock, waiting for him to share.

"It's obvious," he said, impatiently.

"He Googled it," said John, rolling his eyes. "Process of elimination fast-forwarded to Sherlock speed."

"Eloquent as always, John." This time Sherlock was the one to roll his eyes.

Lestrade was looking between the two of them with a suspicious look on his face, still half-convinced that they were playing a prank, as if Sherlock would bother. Sherlock was just stepping forward to tell him so when he caught a glimpse of the sole of the victim's shoe from a new angle.

Sherlock sighed.

"How extremely dull. The ex-flatmate did it."

John shook his head.

"Okay, that one he's going to have to explain."

Sherlock pulled his phone out of his pocket, his fingers tapping rapidly. Lestrade's text alert chimed.

"I'm standing right here. You could have just spoken," protested Lestrade, but Sherlock was already walking away, leaving John to give an apologetic wave and trot to catch-up.

Lestrade sighed and turned to find a constable to send to the address he had just been given.


End file.
